Sometimes I feel like Jacob, wrestling with an angel of God.

Especially when I can’t grasp an unqualified answer that satisfies me; I continue plunging on, like Jacob, whose name was changed to Israel because he demonstrated that he was willing to let God prevail in his life. In response, God then promised Israel that all the blessings pronounced upon Abraham would be his.

Remember the story?

Jacob got up in the middle of the night and took his wives, eleven children, and everything he owned across to the other side of the Jabbok River for safety. Afterwards, Jacob went back and spent the rest of the night alone.

A man came and fought with Jacob until just before daybreak. When the man saw that he could not win, he struck Jacob on the hip and threw it out of joint. They kept wrestling until the man said, “Let go of me! It’s almost daylight.”

“You can’t go until you bless me,” Jacob replied.

The man asked, “What is your name?”

“Jacob,” he answered.

The man said, “From now on, your name will no longer be Jacob. You will be called Israel, because you have wrestled with God and with men, and you have won.”

Jacob said, “Now tell me your name.”

“Don’t you know who I am?” he asked. And he blessed Jacob.

Jacob said, “I have seen God face to face, and I am still alive.” So he named the place Peniel. The sun was coming up as Jacob was leaving Peniel. He was limping because he had been struck on the hip, and the muscle on his hip joint had been injured. That’s why even today the people of Israel don’t eat the hip muscle of any animal.

The Lord never told Jacob his name.

There’s plenty of questions I have for Him, but I know He’s not ready (or, maybe, it’s me) to tell me my name or my story.

Take Easter, for instance. There are those who swear that unless you confess the bodily resurrection – that, after being dead for three days, Jesus rose to live again – the Christian faith means nothing. It’s all based on that singular miracle that God raised Jesus from the dead.

Did God?

Who knows? I certainly don’t. But neither did the people who spent their time walking and talking with Jesus. Did he really die? Why didn’t those people walking on the road recognize him? Was Mary really the first to see him? Then ran to share the good news with the other disciples? And what about Thomas, the one we refer to as “doubting?”

So many theories have historically buzzed that Jesus never died. That it all was part of a Passover plot. That there was no resurrection—at least not in bodily form. That it’s all meant to be a metaphor or a basis for building the faith. That the primary Gospel left out the resurrection, while the latter ones added and embellished it.

On the other hand, we also read about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead to new life. And Elijah, who stretched himself three times upon the widow’s son … “And the Lord heard the voice of Elijah; and the soul of the child came into him again, and he revived” (1 Kings 17:21-22).

Not that it matters.

Our beliefs shouldn’t be “eithers” or “ors,” fact vs. faith, allegorical and/or historical.

Truth be told, most people hang onto their religions for one of two reasons: They’re afraid to die and cease existing as they know it. Or, they’ve been clobbered with verses to avoid sins-or-else-hell and enticed by angelic choirs, streets paved with gold, and celestial reunions with their loved ones.

Apart from certain curiosities and circuitous circumstances, I’ve yet to meet anyone who has died and returned to talk about what it’s like on the other side of the paradise we’re hell-bent on destroying.

That’s where Easter comes in …

The Easter questions comprise our belief that hope springs eternal.

It’s not about faith. Nor love. Nor tradition. Nor creeds and confessions. Neither is it about recognizing a masterful act to validate our experience and what we believe.

Instead, it’s about our determination to persevere, hoping that our hearts and what we hold most dear will prevail. Against tyrants like Vladimir Putin. Oligarchs and capitalists who create a special kind of autocracy that absolves them of any resolve to repent and be merciful. Or democracies gone bad when the greed factor turns to prejudice and hate, special interests and injustice.

Whether I know, instinctively, that the Son of Man was or wasn’t killed and did or didn’t rise again to life, isn’t that important to me. That he was martyred, however, was … as it beckons me to his words and ways, deeds and indeeds. I want to know his story. And do my best to follow his path.

“How does us appreciating spring help the people of Ukraine?” asked Facebook friend Anne Lamott. “If we believe in chaos theory, and the butterfly effect, that the flapping of a Monarch’s wings near my home can lead to a weather change in Tokyo, then maybe noticing beauty — flapping our wings with amazement — changes things in ways we cannot begin to imagine. It means goodness is quantum. Even to help the small world helps. Even prayer, which seems to do nothing. Everything is connected.”

At my age, I ache. So, as I rise each morning to new days full of promise and potential, I am thankful. I’m still alive and kicking. As I follow the news and see trends – the ups and downs of the stock market, the urgent desire to help others against all odds, the Covid crisis taking a back seat to other “Breaking News!” of the moment, the small advances that dedicated scientists and philanthropists are making against the behemoth that is climate change, even the blessings that progressive theologians have brought to enliven the hitherto hold fundamentalists and literalist bondage to the Bible “just as God wrote it” – my faith surges and is restored … bit by bit.

When it comes down to it, that’s what Easter is really about and gives reason to rejoice: Hope restored.

“I will celebrate that I have shelter and friends and warm socks and feet to put in them, and that God or Gus found a way to turn the madness and shame of my addiction into grace, I’ll shake my head with wonder, which I do more and more as I age, at all the beauty that is left and all that still works after so much has been taken away,” Anne Lamott concludes.

It’s rising and shining beyond all the grit and grief … and I say hallelujah to that. Because, like Jacob, we too have been blessed!

Bruce Joffe is publisher and creative of Portugal Living Magazine. You can read the magazine’s current issue and subscribe — at no cost! — via this link:
https://portugallivingmagazine.com/our-current-issue/

For many of the same reasons that Christians celebrate Easter – being released from bondage into freedom – Jewish people traditionally celebrate Passover as a series of observations passed down from generation to generation. It’s a holy day to recall how God saved his called people from plagues and the death of their first-borne sons, the latter by painting the lintels framing their doorways with the blood of sacrificial sheep so that the angel of death “passed over” their homes while the Egyptians suffered an entirely different fate.

One of the central themes of Passover is telling the story of oppression and the journey to liberation.

“Let my people go!” Moses repeatedly pleaded with Pharaoh.

And finally, with the death of his own first-borne son, the story goes that Pharaoh relented. Miracles of the water parting so the Jewish people could walk safely through while, later, as Egyptians had second thoughts and pursued the Israelites through that same water, it gathered back together and drowned the Egyptians hunting their hostages. Even the matzoh – the unleavened bread – is part of the Passover story, reminding us of the haste in which the Hebrews fled (with not even enough time for their bread to rise).

While we may understand that spiritual maturity means accepting that life is the integration of the bitter and the sweet, the matzoh sandwich also reminds us that we live our lives “in-between.” We hang in the balance, alive, but not immortal, sandwiched between a fragile, limited, carnal self and our eternal Divine DNA.

For both faiths, Easter and Passover have the same significance: remembering our freedom from bondage. We gather together, observe certain rituals, and share a communal meal while passing down these remarkable legends.

For Christians, Easter Sunday is preceded by Palm Sunday which, in turn, is preceded by days of Lent, preparing ourselves for worship in church. Often, there are processions (especially in predominantly Roman Catholic countries) with banners, floats, and flowers. For Jews, however, Passover is a home-based, solemn festivity, worshiped around the family table … with a very interesting tradition: one of the chairs is always left empty.

It’s Elijah’s.

Jewish tradition teaches that Elijah the prophet will be the harbinger of the coming of the Messiah and the world’s redemption. It is a chair of hope. Elijah’s cup, in Judaism, the fifth ceremonial cup of wine poured during the family (seder) dinner on Passover is left untouched in honour of Elijah, who, according to belief, will arrive one day as an unknown guest to herald the advent of the Messiah. His presence signals the messianic era: a time of redemption, peace, and spiritual bliss. The full cup ―one for the future ― remains untouched to honor and offer hospitality to Elijah when he ultimately appears. Symbolically, he is also welcomed when families open their doors during the Passover Seder.

During the last generation, however, Elijah’s chair and cup have been taken.

By cell phones and digital devices.

How ironic that holidays which are supposed to lead us by faith from bondage and oppression to freedom and peace have been usurped by humans putting their faith on hold should they be beckoned by a telephone call, Facebook message, or Instagram photo.

Each year, the chairs around our table are filled with different individuals who join together to retell, once again, the story of our enslavement and redemption. The Passover seder is more than a history lesson, for each of us is instructed to see ourselves as if we had personally been freed from Egypt. It must become our own story, told in the context of our family’s generations and community. We add new layers as each new year’s experience melds with the memories of the past.

Some years are painfully different. A beloved family member or friend has died during the past year. A country has been destroyed, whether by politics, war, and division. There is an empty chair – Elijah’s – at the table. How can we go through the same rituals when life has been so drastically altered? What if we begin to cry at the seder table? What if everyone is so afraid of pain and grief that they ignore the empty chair? Are we even allowed to bring our sadness to the seder, which seems like it should be a happy occasion? Sometimes death changes family/social relations, also the empty chair at the table.

How do we find meaning in the holidays now?

With God’s grace, hopefully beyond our fleeting “new normals.”

Bruce Joffe is publisher and creative director of Portugal Living Magazine. You can read the current issue and subscribe — at no cost! — by clicking on this link:

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Whoever has ears, let them hear:

The Kingdom of God beckons like a splendid real estate listing for a sprawling property still under construction. But, instead of a firm or non-negotiable asking price, its Multiple Listing Service (MLS) description states, “All offers considered.”

From near and far, many people looking for a new place to live decide to visit this extraordinary place. Some are newcomers to the neighborhood, while others are old-timers who have lived here much of their lives but, for one reason or another, have decided that the time now has come to change their residence.  Although a number of those interested in the property are first-timers entering the market, more than a few are quite experienced with making monthly mortgage payments including the PITI: principal, interest, taxes, and insurance.

Approaching the entrance to the building, a sign has been tacked to the front door:  “Open. All are welcome here. Please come in, make yourselves at home, and look around our habitat.”

Inside, it’s a marvel to behold.

Off the entry way referred to by the broker’s brochure as the “Gathering Room” leads a meandering corridor with rooms on the left and to the right. People introduce themselves, hang up their outerwear, and laugh about such a remarkable property on which they have been encouraged to make an offer. 

All offers considered. Really? What is expected and how much is enough?

The Great Room beyond the Gathering Room is filled with extraordinary antiques and lovely old keepsakes. The scent of wax from candles and on heavily polished wooden seating areas permeates the air as clusters of people “ooh” and “aah” over the leaded stained glass windows which filter prisms of light. They bow before vintage figurines or larger statues, murmuring softly and reverently. By the look in their eyes and peaceful demeanor, some people appear to be touched by a ghost or holy spirit amid all the hallowed icons amassed here.

Adjoining this room of antiquities is another room—not quite so old, yet classic and traditional. Here, the people cloistered seem a bit more reserved as they pay homage to the place in a pristine and orderly fashion.  They all know the specific reply to each statement or comment made, as everyone echoes the proper response promptly and with great precision. Though, to some, this seems somewhat stifled and/or silly, the appointed words and common traditions underscore a sense and sensibility resulting in a bond enrapturing quite a few people in the semblance of hearing a holy, holy, holy celestial choir.

Several visitors to the property are held spellbound by these two rooms and find themselves passing back and forth between them. In some ways, both rooms are similar although, quite naturally, certain folks are more beholden to the antiques and heirlooms while others are bound to their more customary rites and rituals.

The formal rooms continue to unfold as we step into the Library. Silently, one of the men seated around one of several large tables looks up as we enter and points to his lips, making the “Shhhhhhhhh!” sign that we are not to speak while here. If the other two rooms we had been through were warmed by the touch of flesh through handshakes, a squeeze to the shoulder, or pat on the back, this room seems fundamentally cold and foreboding. Those seated at the tables here have their eyes glued resolutely to the pages in front of them. Their fingers follow the words on each page with Talmudic scrutiny, parsing laws and prohibitions. Every so often, someone nods in affirmation with the book or glances up at the ceiling as though the Holy One can be found ensconced there. While a few linger here acknowledging whatever truths (evidently) cause the readers to follow in thanksgiving and submission, others are very eager to move on.

Passing a series of Dormitories whose doors are slightly ajar, we peek inside. Time blurs in these bedrooms where we expect peaceful people to be sleeping. Instead, they are silently meditating on some noble truths, softly chanting their mantras, or stretching contemplatively in yoga positions—reaching reflexively toward a higher moral principle, perspective, or purpose.

Next, we approach the grand Fellowship Hall where people seem to enjoy getting together. Music plays as we smile back at those grinning our way; yet something seems amiss—odd and out of sorts. A measured “all for one and one for all” aura appears like icing to a cake—except there is no cake and the sugar is really saccharine. Squinting for a closer look, we notice close cliques and distinct separations among the people present. What’s more, apparently they’re oblivious to anyone outside of their room. Despite the frivolous camaraderie, some people evidence a heavenly joy, as if being together in a general store surrounded with all its goods.

To the left of the Fellowship Hall in an open-concept Family Room, people are listening to a lecture that follows a movie shown here earlier. No rules or regulations are enforced here, just respect for each person’s uniqueness and a hallelujah chorus of diversity, social justice, and emancipation proclamation. The emphasis here is on leaving the room a better place than how you found it.

We cannot help but put hands over our ears for all the hooting and hollering coming from down the hall. In this room, people are shouting and clapping, dancing and singing with words that don’t make any sense (to us).  As quickly as someone stands and utters a string of unknown sounds, another interrupts, prophesying praises and/or condemnations. There is neither rhyme nor reason, and, despite people lying jubilantly helter-skelter across the floor, a sense of mystical satisfaction seems to permeate the activity here. Who can say that, miraculously, they aren’t swept up in some sort of spiritual ecstasy? 

You can see the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, as only a few rooms are left before the backyard door which is wide open.

The next room our group comes across – those who haven’t stayed behind in one of those rooms we’ve already been through – has a bright, neon sign above its portal flashing: “Bonus Room!” But the door to this room is closed and locked. We knock and the door opens from the inside. “You have to pay – spend your money as well as time – in this room,” a voice intones.  “How much?” a member of our group asks. “That depends on what you want,” quickly comes the reply. “You need to sow seeds in order to reap a harvest.”

We are allowed to peek into the room without crossing the threshold. Truth be told, the room looks more like a bank or investment firm, with people standing as best they can – some holding tightly onto canes, the blind being led by guides gripping their hands, and others waiting impatiently as nervous tics ravage their faces – all awaiting their turn at the convenience counter.

“Do you have faith? Do you trust God? Do you believe God’s Word? Will you confess and claim it? Are you willing to put God to the test and prove that you’ve been promised health, wealth, and happiness?” asks the well-dressed proprietor behind the window grills. “Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!” cries each person approaching.

“Then, plant a seed.  Put a deposit, a down payment, on the riches in store for you,” the hawker urges, as people peel off $50, $100, and $500 bills … or more.

Shocked as we are at the nature of these “covenant” transactions, it’s amazing how some of those believers are being blessed in the process of their dealing!

Two rooms remain for us to see in this cathedral of a house.

One, we decide to bypass as it seems too reminiscent of the Family Room. This one, though, is named the “Play Room,” and it’s obvious why: Entertainment is the focus here. There are video games and sound stages with bands blasting contemporary gospel music (variety shows and theatrical performances), with plenty of young, exuberant faces eager to soak it all in. Keurig coffee makers and bagels with cream cheese are set out as snacks here. At the end of their time in this spacious room, people hug and say, “See you next week,” as they leave the room and go merrily on their ways. Yes, they have given a dollar or several during the collection and were reminded to be back a week following.

And, in between? That’s their time, to do with as they please.

The Kitchen, warm and welcoming, is full of joyful volunteers who charitably cook and clean up after themselves to feed those hungry and/or homeless. It’s truly amazing how the pantry here is never empty—each time groceries are removed and divided among the guests, the food multiplies so that even more can be served. A banner strung over the serving area subtly reminds folks that, “Joy shared is doubled. Sorrow shared is halved.”

Strangely, the last room before our exit is quite stark and quiet. People here sit in a circle on simple chairs, without the grandiose décor found elsewhere on our tour. Nobody speaks or acknowledges us as we look in; they continue in a reverie of prayer and contemplation. There is no coffee hour or refreshments here, no glad-handing or promises of prosperity, just a solemn serenity begging for peace.

Tired as we are from previewing this property, we need, at least, to take a quick look around the outside. We are standing in front of an open door that looks out on a back yard stretching as far as the heavens. People continuously coming and going from this expanse of nature are both kind and helpful to those they know or don’t know, as they bend beneath the weight of carrying another’s burdens. Here, they lay down parts, parcels, and packets of their lives for others to take while picking up pieces of wood and kindling to fuel the fires of friendship. Children and animals romp together as sunshine and rain nourish the ground, rendering it friendly and fertile.

“So, what do you think of my parents’ house?” inquires the heir and agent apparent, suddenly standing there among us.  “My family’s house has many rooms. Didn’t I already tell you that?”

We all agree—in principle, at least.

“Can I prepare a place – a room – for you here?” he asks, offering each of us our choice of no-money-down, obligation-free reservations.

It seems too good to be true to us wayfarers, as there’s faith abounding here for everyone to live together harmoniously—despite whatever our differences.

Bidding adieu, we remember the words in the property’s listing:

“All offers considered.” Yes, all offers truly are considered by the householders. This house is called The Gospel, it’s fully furnished, and the ageless rock of its cornerstone is grace.

Like so much else in the Bible and the important matters that Jesus talks about, being “born again” may be a metaphor … though a metaphor that is essential to the Christian testament, indeed to the Christian experience.

If I were creating a college curriculum for Christians, I might call my foundational course “Christianity 101: Being Born Again.”

Unfortunately, the term has been given a bad rap and held hostage by evangelical, fundamentalist and conservative Christians; so we tend to cringe a bit, preferring to stay away from talking about it.

But we need to.

Conservative Christians have had a near monopoly on what many people refer to as “born again language” and culture … populated by terms like fallen, sinner, altar calls, and saved … to reciting a string of words as a given formula.  You know what I’m talking about:

 “Heavenly Father, have mercy on me, a sinner. I believe in you and that your word is true. I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of the living God and that he died on the cross so that I may now have forgiveness for my sins and eternal life. I know that without you in my heart my life is meaningless.”  Next, we add a bunch of our particular brand of dogma and doctrine.  And then we say: “I give you my life and ask you to take full control from this moment on; I pray this in the name of Jesus Christ.”

In Charismatic and Pentecostal circles, being born again is further complicated to mean receiving the gifts of the Spirit … especially as evidenced by speaking in tongues, if not being “slain in the Spirit.”

In addition, most of us have known at least one person who was born again in a remarkably unattractive way—practicing a rigid kind of religious righteousness, judgmentalism, and imposing strict boundaries between an “in-group” of acceptable Christians and all others.

I remember some of the churches I attended in my earlier years as a Christian, where certain places of worship were referred to positively, passionately, as “believing” churches, while most mainstream churches were summarily dismissed as not valid to be called Christian.

And yet, there is something special about being born again. 

Rightly understood, being born again is a fulfilling and comprehensive notion, one that we – and all – need to reclaim.

The theme of the story about Nicodemus and Jesus from the third chapter of John’s gospel is rich in metaphor and symbolism.  We’ll focus on verses 3-7 because they explain why being born again or born anew is so vitally important:

“In reply, Jesus declared, ‘I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again … no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit.  Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit.  You should not be surprised at my saying, ‘You must be born again.’”

The idea of being born again of the Spirit is not new, nor did it end with these words of Jesus. One of my own personal favorites is the prophecy found in Jeremiah 31:

³¹ “The days are coming,” declares the LORD, “when I will make a new covenant with the people of Israel and with the people of Judah … ³³ “This is the covenant I will make with the people of Israel after that time,” declares the LORD. “I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be my people. ³⁴ No longer will they teach their neighbor, or say to one another, ‘Know the LORD,’ because they will all know me, from the least of them to the greatest,” declares the LORD. “For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.”

 Later, in I Peter 1:3, we read:

“Blessed be the LORD God who has invited us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ.”

But, let’s return to Nicodemus: a Pharisee who had dedicated his life to keeping the rules and regulations of the Old Covenant, a man totally committed to serving God in the only ways that seemed right to him.

Not only was Nicodemus a Pharisee, he was also a member of the Sanhedrin, the ruling body or supreme court of the Jews at the time.

So, what on earth was someone like Nicodemus doing coming to Jesus?  Was he out to trap Jesus into saying something controversial?  Was he gathering evidence? 

No, I don’t think so …

Nicodemus came in the dark, looking for light.  There’s one of our metaphors!  He starts the conversation with a compliment:  “Teacher,” he says to Jesus, “we all know that God has sent you to teach us.  Your miraculous signs are proof enough that God is with you.”

But Jesus brushes aside the compliment to get to the heart of his message: It’s not external signs that are important, he tells Nicodemus; it’s what happens inside a person’s heart … and that has to be such a profound change that it can only be described as being “born again.”

These two Greek words can be translated three different ways.  And they have been, in different translations of the Bible where, in some versions, the words are “born again,” in others, “born anew,” and yet in others, “born from above.”  What’s more, all three are valid!  It’s one of those concepts that can’t be contained accurately in English and retain its full meaning.

What is its full meaning?  The words mean a radical and complete change … it can mean “again,” in the sense of a second or third or fourth time … and it can mean “from above,” and therefore from God.

When we try to bring all these meanings together, to get a sense of what Jesus was trying to say to Nicodemus, we essentially have Jesus saying that there is a fundamental change that happens to someone who experiences and enters into the Kingdom of God.  Something happens deep inside, in the soul, in the heart of that person, which can only be described as being reborn … and there’s nothing of self in this because it comes from the grace and power of God.

Like all of us, Nicodemus was a man who saw the need for change – and wanted to change – but he couldn’t change himself.  It’s a problem that has plagued humanity from the earliest pages of the Bible.  Nicodemus came to Jesus knowing that there was something lacking in his life. Jesus saw the root of the problem and told him what was needed.  It was too radical for Nicodemus, so he clutched at straws: “I just don’t understand how it works,” he seems to say.

Here Jesus does what he often does: He takes pictures from everyday life and uses them to open people’s eyes to the truth.  I’ve referred to pictures like this, before, as metaphors.

“See the wind,” Jesus says to Nicodemus.  “You’ve seen trees flattened by it, or leaves blown by its gusts. You may not understand the physics of what you see, but the effects are plain to see.  It’s like that with the Spirit, too. You may not know how it works, but the effects are plain to see in lives that have been changed.”

Today, Jesus may have referred to television, a computer, or the Internet instead of the wind. Do most of us know how they work?  Probably not.  Do we understand the technology behind their incredible power?  No, we don’t.  But that doesn’t matter … because the effects of what television, computers, and the Internet do are so obvious.

We may not understand the full implications of Jesus’ words when he talks about flesh giving birth to flesh and the Spirit giving birth to spirit … but we can see the effect of this spiritual rebirth in the lives of Christians who have experienced it!

One commentator explained it this way: “The unanswerable argument for Christianity is the Christian life.”  A changed life.  A life focused from the inside out rather than the outside in.

Children instinctively accept their relationship to God because they haven’t been conditioned by society’s rules, norms, and expectations.  As we grow conditioned to seek popularity, achievement, affluence, authority, in the world, we’re increasingly controlled by society, living from the outside in rather than by the Spirit of God from the inside out.  We’re increasingly separated from God as our self-concern, our self-preoccupation, intensifies. It’s what I think of as “the fall.”

Jesus concludes his conversation with Nicodemus with a warning: “I’ve tried to make things simple for you to understand,” says Jesus.  “I’ve spoken to you of earthly things and you do not believe; how, then, will you believe if I speak of heavenly things?  If you can’t see what I’m getting at from your everyday life, how in the world are you ever going to understand the deeper, spiritual things?”

Alas, Nicodemus just doesn’t get it. He’s a literalist. “How can anyone be born after having grown old?  Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” 

Nicodemus is still clueless.

The point of this classic text is clear: What Nicodemus needs is a spiritual rebirth, an internal rebirth, a personal transformation.  It’s what we all need.  Because, at the heart of the Gospel, is the mystery of God’s compelling grace, love, and redemption. 

There’s a very serious message here, I believe, for us:  Faith isn’t something you can understand by discussion, argument, reading or listening to sermons … it’s something that has to be experienced. 

To be born again, born anew, or born from above aren’t alien concepts that belong to the “happy-clappy” brigade of Pentecostals.  No, no, no!  This is fundamental change, a metamorphosis, a continuing transformation in our lives, a constant reformation of dying to the self that the world tells us we are, and being resurrected into the spiritual person that God has created us to be: in relationship to our Creator and all of creation. 

To be born again means dying to an old way of being and being born into a new way of being … dying to an old identity and being born into a new one centered in the sacred.

It’s a process, not a formula … a continuing cycle that we need to go through again and again, rather than saying the words of the “Sinner’s Prayer” and being done with it.

Being born again is the road of return from our spiritual exile, the way to recover our true selves, the path to beginning to live our lives God’s way rather than ours, the exodus from our individual and collective selfishness to the freedom from that bondage.

Most importantly, being born again is intentional; although we can’t make it happen, we can help it along.  That’s why so many sermons about being born again often end with an altar call, an invitation to realize our limitations, turn from our evil ways, and to ask God to take over by acknowledging Jesus as the way we want to live.

No, I’m not going to do that.  But I am going to ask you to bow your heads as I end this message with a prayer:

Our God and Creator, all the riches of life in your Kingdom are ours if we will but open up our lives, our hearts, our minds, and our souls to the new life that you would have us live. Open our hearts to the need for renewal and rebirth.